


In My Arms A Garden

by MiraSoraStone



Series: Abandon Ship (A Pirate's Life For Me) [2]
Category: The First Drafthouse (Toonkind D&D)
Genre: A glimpse into Sammy's Backstory, Post Abandon Ship FPS, Post Rated Arrrr, Soulmate AU - Flowers, Weepy Wednesday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:49:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27195359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiraSoraStone/pseuds/MiraSoraStone
Summary: Snapshots of Sammy's life in a Soulmate Flower AU and the connections he's made.
Series: Abandon Ship (A Pirate's Life For Me) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950307
Kudos: 2





	In My Arms A Garden

Sammy bloomed, once upon a time. A chest full of Jasmine, blooming vibrantly, leaves and flowers sprouting down in delicate trails, their roots tied deeply into his heart as he spread White Heather to his loved ones. His mother sprouted honeysuckle around her neck, and his father clung to the yellow poppies on his wrist and in spring their manor home smelled sweet with hints of petrichor always in the air. He doesn’t understand how sometimes his flowers wilt when his parents take him by the hand and softly tell him it’s his turn,  _ it’s just a little prick and then it will be over.  _ Sammy doesn’t understand why his parents prune Hibiscus and Orange Lillies off of their backs, throwing them into the fire. He doesn’t understand why his mother shrieks when they start to take root on his back too, and she tears at them with clawed hands that slides bright blue ink down his skin. 

And then Sammy’s garden shriveled, choked by ashes and all he had left was a dead garden - salted by his own tears. He chooses to forget and his memories are sepia-toned and colored in roses. 

The flowers on his back blossom and then whither without his notice. No one is there to take notice for him. It is a good thing. And then he meets the realkind man who’s eyes are warm and his hands are soft. His words viper sweet and Sammy is  _ blooming _ under his touch, Hibiscus and Orange Lillies and Black Dhalia - but he doesn’t know the language of flowers, he was ten when he first ran and his parents were quiet on their meanings. 

_ “You’re their son, aren’t you little Jax.” _

Sammy runs. Sammy hides. Sammy presses down and down and down, willing the flowers to disappear and wither away into dust. They don’t. They bush and bloom around his wrists, like manacles declaring the man’s intent. Sammy doesn’t have clippers like his mother did. He takes them by the roots and tears them out of his skin, purple ink flowing. 

Ice grows around his heart, his colors fade and eventually turn porcelain white. He has to hide. They won’t know how important he is if he doesn’t show his colors. He hates them. Hates how his emotions betrayed him. The icy numbness grows. It fills his veins and frost finally kills the plants that took root around his wrists - releasing him. He is numb. But he is free. 

  
  


Sammy blooms again, Purple Globe Amaranth blooming to fruition despite the frozen numbness that surrounds his heart and fills his veins as a tiny rat squeaks at him and he  _ understands.  _ (A single sprig of White Heather blooms at the base of Squeakers’ head, giving the rat a little flower hat, and Squeakers cannot be more proud than he was then, watching this near comatose frankenalie toon reach out-) 

The years pass and there’s a tiny little bud pushing it’s way through despite everything as a gruff little bat invites Sammy in for the night - and White Heather blooms instantly, making Koda shout and demand an explanation at the sudden flowers - and Sammy can’t help but laugh until tears fall from his exhausted eyes. 

Prismatone’s gentle touch leaves rainbow petals on his porcelain white skin, warm to the touch and silky smooth. Love that he hasn’t felt since he was young fills his chest and he cries as she kisses his forehead, gently chasing away the last traces of winter in his veins with the slow warmth of spring.  _ “Live your life, Sammy - your song is beautiful and loved.”  _

Sammy is unthawing. 

Sammy is learning how to live. 

Sammy is… oh gods how does he deal with these emotions!? How do other Toons live with all this in their chests!?

There is a ship. He doesn’t know if it’s a dream or if it’s real. It  _ feels _ real. His White Heather blooms for Tally, and Floof, and Donut, and their flowers join the bouquet on his chest, nestled inbetween Koda’s little buds and Squeakers full blooms. 

He wakes up and  _ the blooms are still there.  _

  
  


A yellow haze cuts through his vision, neatly slicing through the anger and determination and sadness and turning it into a very familiar warmth. It’s wrong and turns his stomach and he can’t fight it. 

_ “Of course we’re friends.”  _

Then he comes to, snapping to reality as Squeakers bites his hand. A hand shackled by familIar flowers, already in full bloom. He feels like he’s drowning. He has to get Koda  _ away _ \- everything is sluggish and there is the Command to  _ Stop _ and Sammy hates that he’s so weak to this magic. 

And then two of the Realkind are dead, and the man is gone and Koda is raging and Sammy can’t even  _ heal _ himself what kind of cleric is he if he can’t even do that? What good is he to Prismatone if he can’t  _ help? _

Billy is warm and awkwardly comforting and Sammy feels  _ awful _ in dragging people into his past, miring them with his problems. But… It’s nice to be cared for - even in such a fumbling way. He sits on a slightly lumpy couch and its  _ a relief _ to tell someone. Even as it hurts. Even as Koda forces him to look at his conflicted feelings about his parents. 

He looks up at Billy and quietly asks for some shears, his hands trembling as they cover flowers that are more like shackles. Billy looks absolutely heartbroken for a moment but nods. 

The old security guard disappears into the depths of the apartment and returns with some small clippers. Sammy takes the clippers with a quiet thank you, and quietly starts pruning off the flowers encircling his wrists and with each bloom that falls, the panic weighing in Sammy’s chest eases until all that is left is green encircling his wrists.

Koda quietly tugs at Sammy’s sleeve. “...You won’t do that to mine… right?”

Sammy drops the shears into the pile of Hibiscus and Orange Lillies and Black Dhalia, and pulls Koda into a tight hug. “You’re my  _ brother. _ ” he says fiercely, “I would  _ never _ cut your blooms off.” 

“...Okay.”

  
  


Sammy’s chest is full of flowers. When he reaches up to hug himself, his arms overflow with blooms. It helps to remind him that he is loved. And that he loves in return. 

His people are out there. The new blooms are proof of it. He just has to find them. 


End file.
